


Hiraeth

by eb18490



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: AU, F/M, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-08-28 09:19:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16720620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eb18490/pseuds/eb18490
Summary: He wouldn't know, and that was the worst kind of pain.





	Hiraeth

You’d waited for Bucky for a long time. After all, you’d promised him you would. 

You promised him before he went off to war, and you swore it every single time you wrote him a letter. He knew you were counting the days until he’d be able to hold you in his arms again and fall asleep properly with your body curled into his. You knew he was counting down the days, too, until he didn’t have to use a blurry black and white photograph to see your face.

Even after you received the telegram confirming your worst nightmare, you still waited.

~

Everything about the beginning of the pain had gotten blurry a long while ago. Someone had taken you hostage, and they had shown you that Bucky wasn’t dead like you thought he was.

But maybe he was better off dead, buried by the snow at the bottom of the mountain that you thought had taken his life. Maybe he was better off dead and immune to the pain inflicted upon him.

The people that had taken you, Hydra, they were called, loved torture. It was sickening. They loved to wake you up from whatever sleep they put you in every time the Winter Soldier finished a mission, and they loved throwing the two of you into a small cell together to see what would happen. They loved seeing you struggling to make him remember, and they loved seeing him trying to and failing.

How many times had you done this? You didn’t know, but it felt like hundreds, and it started the same way every time.

“Bucky.” You’d say, sitting in your corner of the cement cell.

You knew that this early on he wouldn’t know who he was.

“You’re not the Winter Soldier. You are James Buchanan Barnes. Your friends call you Bucky.”

He still wouldn’t respond, looking down at the floor with his sweaty hair falling in front of his eyes, your hands itching to brush it back.

“Bucky, do you know who I am? I’m y/n. We’re… we're married.” You’d say, twisting the thin metal band around your ring finger, the lone diamond glittering in the light. It would have been easier if Hydra had removed the ring from your finger, but they wanted you to remember. They wanted you to have memories that Bucky wouldn’t have, memories from when the two of you were happy.

No matter how much it pained you, you couldn’t bring yourself to take the ring off. It was his mother’s, after all. It held too many memories to simply be tossed away.

“I’m still here, Bucky.” You’d say, scooting just a couple of inches forward on the floor. “Do you remember Brooklyn?”

Some days, he’d start to respond by now, but others, he’d still be sitting as still as a rock.

“You’re from Brooklyn.” You’d tell him. “That’s in New York. Do you remember New York? They’ve got some buildings so tall it’s like they touch the clouds. There’s always cars honking on the street, and sometimes you steal my pillow in the middle of the night and put it over your head so you don’t hear the traffic.”

You’d start crying by now, silent tears making their way down your cheeks, and you’d move forward a little more.

“Some weekends you wake up before me and make pancakes, and then we have Steve over for breakfast.

Do you remember Steve? He’s your best friend. The three of us go to Coney Island in the summers and sit at the beach. Sometimes we buy popcorn or sodas, and you have to shoo away the seagulls when they come for our food.”

You’d move forward a little more now, only about a foot away from him, and he’d lift his head, eyes no longer holding the glitter they once did. They were empty and soulless, but you knew he was still in there.

“Bucky?”

He’d never really talk, but you knew a memory or two was coming back when he looked like a few tears were about to come from the corners of his eyes.

You’d pray he’d remember enough, because sometimes he’d revert back into Soldier mode, grabbing your neck with his metal hand and beginning to cut off your air supply.

“Bucky,” You’d choke out. “This isn’t you. It’s not you.”

You wouldn’t be able to breathe, and you’d claw at your neck, gasping for air.

“Do you remember when I told you I’d wait for you to come back from the war?” You’d ask him, wheezing, words barely able to be uttered from the lack of oxygen. “You’re fighting a different one now. I don’t know if you’ll win this one; I hope you do, but even if you lose, I’m still waiting for you.”

His hand would relax a bit, letting you breathe again, and he’d open his mouth and close it like he was going to say something, but the guards would barge in, separating the two of you as Bucky tried to fight them to get to you.

“Y/n!” He’d suddenly whimper, his voice raspy from disuse.

“I love you.” You’d tell Bucky. “I’ll wait for as long as it takes.”

It hurt, knowing that they were taking him to wipe his memory, and after he wouldn’t remember what you promised. He wouldn’t remember that you were waiting for him.

He wouldn’t know, and that was the worst kind of pain.


End file.
